First he saved us from the great white Septima during Shark Week. Then, he rivaled the incomparable Liam Neeson to save us from a “The Grey”-type scenario during coyote hunting season.
He vowed to hang it up after that. You can’t be Peter Parker and Spiderman, too.
But, let’s face it, with the recent invasion of hammerhead sharks rising from the shadows, this sleepy beach town needs a hero. And that hero can be none other than local celebrity angler, expert hunter, camo enthusiast and my best pal, Phill.
Once wielding a ballpoint pen as his weapon of choice while living the corporate life in Washington, D.C., Phill traded it all in for a crossbow and vanity license plate about fishing when he made the move to Sussex County. And since then, his resume speaks for itself. (When’s the last time you got attacked by a coyote? Exactly.).
But just like any good “monster in the house” movie franchise, signing on the star to complete the trilogy is never an easy task. Shia Labeouf got replaced by Mark Wahlberg in “Transformers.” Ben Affleck is the new Batman, instead of Christian Bale. Ashton Kutcher even took over “Two and a Half Men” when Charlie Sheen went to rehab or whatever.
Unfortunately, Phill went all “Hollywood” on us and had to work his day job last Sunday when my other buddies and I went down to Assateague for a surf, leaving us defenseless against hammerheads and coyotes alike. But the sun was shining, the waves were pumping, and I didn’t have to write this “Tripple Overtime” until tomorrow, so we paddled out anyway.
The lifeguards weren’t so confident without Phill backing them up, though. After making it past the breakers, despite not having exercised since the last time I surfed three weeks ago, I managed to catch a few bombs without passing out, until I heard the whistles.
They might as well have flashed the Bat symbol — they needed the Camo Crusader. The Maritime Mercenary. The Savior of Sussex. They needed… my pal Phill. But he was too busy being Peter Parker.
So, instead, we had to retreat when one of the hammerhead pups was spotted — the ones that first appeared in Delaware and have since appeared throughout Ocean City and even splashing around the Assawoman Bay.
Now, I get it. They’re lifeguards. Their job is to… you know, save lives or whatever. But these were hammerheads. Actually, they were hammerhead pups. They’re not great whites. They’re not Septima. Really, they’re not much of a threat to humans. In fact, they’ve never been held responsible for a fatal attack.
In ancient Hawaiian culture, they don’t consider hammerheads “niuh,” or “man-eaters,” they consider them “aumakua” — one of the most respected sharks in the ocean, that they believe protect them from the niuh (kind of like a Hawaiian version of Phill).
Call me crazy, but I’d be a little more inclined to trust 2,000 years of knowledge from an ancient civilization than a 20-year-old with a whistle and tank top.
And I should have the choice to do so.
Just like I should have the choice to not wear a seatbelt if I don’t want to, or ignore surgeon-general warnings or eat Chik-fil-a on Sundays.
The government may not be completely at fault on that last one, but you get my point. As long as I’m not endangering others, what business is it of theirs what risks I take for myself? If I want to leave my seatbelt off, or be a detriment to my own health, or swim with sharks without Phill around, I should be allowed to. I mean is this not America? Is it not almost the Fourth of July?
While I did end up paddling in that day — and no, Mom, I don’t smoke, and yes, Mom, I always wear my seatbelt — I couldn’t help but ponder these questions. I couldn’t help but wonder if the country priding itself on freedom is perhaps losing more and more of it every day. I also couldn’t help but wonder if the janitor who cleans the Chik-fil-a in West Ocean City on Sundays knew how to make a spicy chicken sandwich.
These were the topics of discussion as we stopped by to visit Phill and warn him that he now had to save us from the lifeguards trying to save us too. But whether or not Fenwick’s Last Frontiersman will rise to the challenge like he always has, or finally decide to run for president, for that matter, I do know one thing — when the guards finally called it day and we paddled out for the evening session with the sun setting and the wind fading, I had never felt more free. Heck, I could practically see the red-, white-and-blue fireworks lining the sky.
That’s the kind of freedom I’m going to try to remember the next time someone tells me that I can’t swim with the sharks.